


Broken Hearts

by writing_out_my_inner_voices



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Battle, Blood and Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_out_my_inner_voices/pseuds/writing_out_my_inner_voices
Summary: Tharen is an Imperial soldier, living the best life he can manage with his wife and daughter. But disaster strikes, and pain envelopes him.It can only get worse from here.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Blood, gore, violence. Mention of a child dying, and mention of death. I feel like it's more implied than direct. But yeah, there's the warnings for this fic.

There was, apparently, a limit to the amount of necromancers willing to do what he demanded, even under threat of death.

Just as there was apparently a limit to how long a corpse was considered 'usable' when it came to the dark magic of bringing the lifeless back from the void.

He had searched over Skyrim, had dragged necromancers back with either his story of pain, or with his fists, and all had managed to say the same thing when they saw the state of his daughter's body.

"There is no helping her, I'm sorry."

So his daughter stayed dead, hidden away in the shed out back, closed from predators, protected by the limited spells he managed to dig out of books that kept the rot from getting worse.

His wife stayed lifeless in her own way, a blank stare meeting his own fervent gaze, limp hands held tight in a warrior's grip.

"I will bring her back, I swear it." He had said these words so many times, but nothing brought his wife out of the fog she was in, lost to herself, and lost to him.  
He had been so sure, as he wiped the dark blood off of his hands, that this necromancer had been telling the truth.

He had said he could bring his daughter back, and by extension, bring his wife back, had been tremendously confident about that fact.

How unfortunate that Tharen would start his morning walk after paying the man the night before, only to find him stealing away before the rooster crowed, money weighing his pockets, and with no solution in sight.

More unfortunate was how weak the necromancer was in response to his violence. With his gold back in hand, and his heart heavy, he headed back to his home, back to the shed.

Only to find his wife out of the chair she'd been seated in for so many months, standing in the doorway, staring at their daughter, or what Tharen was trying so desperately to revive.

His hands moved to her shoulders, tried to pull her away from the sight, reassure her, gently shush her, even if she hadn't spoken a word since the attack, since their daughter had died.

She still said nothing as they walked back in, and Tharen helped her sit down, didn't look at him, just stared into the flickering flames, her hands still limp.  
He had always thought hearts breaking was a silent sort of pain, even with as devastating as some of it was, with how painful the loss was, even if it caused death.

His wife's beautiful voice, torn open in a ragged scream of grief, proved otherwise. Tharen escaped from the bed, moved to her, held her as she screamed to their home, to their loss, to the sky, to the very gods who now held their daughter's soul for whatever impossible ransom.

The sound of hearts breaking, he realized, was this. His wife quieted, screams turning to sobs as she clung to him, as emotions long buried rushed to the surface and past it.

His arms stayed wrapped around her, clutched so tightly around her torso, he could feel her hammering pulse all but throw her heart out onto the floor in front of them. As soon as he noticed her racing pulse, he felt it stutter. Then race forward in a surge, then stutter.

With both bodies buried, with flowers painstakingly planted on, around, in front of the stone headstones that did nothing to depict who they had been to him, he left the skeletal remains of the town.

He left those still struggling to find joy in each day after so much loss. he left those he had considered friends, now strangers who barely met his gaze. He threw himself into his work, going on patrols, scouting, gritting his teeth through orders from commanders and superiors who brushed off his loss and told him that the best way to work through it was putting an axe in someone's skull.

Crushing someone's soul with an axe didn't help, but stealing the locations of the widespread Stormcloak camps did, and it took far too long for him to truly pick out which camp had done, which individuals.

They had left their marks, digging their axes and swords into doors, smearing the marks with berries until it was dark as blood, and then retreating, confident in their destruction of a small town that just so happened to fly the Imperial flag.

He left his own marks on that camp, spilling blood and bodies across the snow and grass, smearing bloodied hands over tents, over maps, over blades.  
There was no one left to send back a message to the Stormcloak army, but he didn't want a response. He was making a point.

If he couldn't bring back the dead, neither could they.

Rage filled him, smothered the grief settled deep in his chest, and he couldn't stop as he attacked more camps across the map, a terror that started to spread through the Stormcloaks like wildfire, his name barely whispered over campfires.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The legend of the Dragonborn has been spoken, sung, and expected for centuries. 
> 
> When rumors spread of the Dragonborn across the plains, mountains, rivers, and skies of Skyrim, many have to wonder, to speculate, to truly decide. 
> 
> Is t his really the creature of legend, meant to save Skyrim from itself and its destruction? 
> 
> Or are the myths a warning, a word of caution, to not deem the Dragonborn as Skyrim's savior, but as the means of its true and expected demise?

The tricky thing about legends was figuring out where the warnings of the past started, and where the myths of the future ended.

The legend of the Dragonborn had been a thing passed down for centuries, since Skyrim was first settled. Mothers, fathers, elders, all spoke in reverence of the foretold shadowy figure, a mortal with the soul of a dragon, barely contained by this plane of existence, likely not held by the next.

But centuries passed, and the whispers of the Dragonborn dwindled and faded.

It seemed that this savior and harbinger of destruction was truly a thing of legend and old wives' tales, rather than a thing of terrible awe-inspiring fear and respect.

People let their guards drop to the floor, fears faded to amusement at their own follies and silly misconceptions. 

The world fell over and over into its chaos, as blood soaked the earth, blue skies darkened to gray, and friends killed each other in the name of being right.

It was only when a bard, bold and fearless, knowing the act would mark him for death, sang the song in a crowded tavern. 

_Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes._

His body was felled by swords within the hour, behind the inn, but the melody carried in the hearts and minds of those who had heard him, and beyond the walls of the tavern.

_You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn comes._

The words sparked up long-buried memories of myths, legends, and those shadowy figures unknown and unheard of, and the song burned across Skyrim like fire. 

_Hurrah, hurrah, the Dragonborn comes._


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had long since set, the night drawing in amidst the laughter and domestic chaos that came with the crowd currently enjoying the food and drinks of the local tavern. Stars glittered through the high windows, music played from the corner and bounced off the walls, and peace was settling into the wood flooring like it truly belonged there.

As temporary as it would be, it was a welcome respite.

Except for the loud laughter that cracked through it like thunder.

A group of mercenaries, all very loud, all very drunk, were off in their own corner, laughing like they had no business doing, slamming full mugs down on the table, ale sloshing everywhere. 

They earned many glares and disapproving scoffs, but none approached them. It was a tavern after all. If it got truly difficult to put up with them, the tavern keeper would call the guards. 

But everyone had their vices to cope with the impending doom of Skyrim as a whole. Might as well go along with peace, however loud it proved to be, until it was impossible to do so.

Perhaps it was just being among his friends after so many victories, perhaps it was the secondhand effects of his friends taking in so much alcohol, or perhaps it was just who he was as a person. But Theran felt safe, warm, alive, for the first time in quite a long time.

Less to do with the threats of the outside, the Stormcloaks, the Imperials, and more to do with just feeling secure. Life, in all its chaos and disaster so far, felt right. He was with friends, he had ale, he had food.

Life was perfect so far, or as near perfect as it could be.

"Woman, another drink for my friends!"

He hadn't drank anything so far, he was waiting to do so when he could enjoy it in peace without his friends jostling his drink right out of his hands.

The woman he had called out to glanced over at him, stared at him. Even through the sheer bliss he felt of being in the tavern, of being near his friends, he waved her over. By some miracle, she walked over, looking at them all with piercing golden brown eyes, her long light brown hair pulled back in a long braid-

_This isn't important-_

"Get us some more drinks, would you?"

Her eyebrows rose, and he felt an elbow jab right into his ribs, heard the slurred words of his friends trying to demand his attention. But he ignored them, because all they truly needed...was more ale.

The woman smiled at him, if you could call it that, no humor or amusement in the expression, just a cold sort of ice, and for a moment, he felt like a rabbit caught in a wolf's paws. 

"Drinks?"

He swallowed carefully, barely managing to recover and gain his mental footing, whatever was left of it. He fished out a handful of gold from his pack, and placed it into her hand.

"Yes, drinks, and there. For your trouble."

For whatever reason, his previously rowdy friends were silent, and he glanced around at them, and was only met with looks of shock, dread, horror. He stared at them, then looked back at the woman, whose gaze hadn't left him at all.

She leaned over him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and set the gold back on the table in front of him. With a toss of her hair that smacked him a bit too hard across the face, she straightened up.

"No payment needed. Be right back."

Theran relaxed when she finally walked away, and spread his arms out, grinning at his friends, who still, stared back at him in horror.

"There, see? Drinks. On the house even."

Oh, how the fates and Divines cackled at his misery not an hour later.

The woman, as he had found out not moments after he and his friends drank the ale she brought back, had not been a tavern wench, but was instead a shield-maiden. A terrifying one at that.

What they found out shortly after, which led to them rushing from the tavern like they were on fire, was that the ale she had offered them with the brightest smile he had ever seen, had been laced with crushed spider eggs. All of which left him, and his friends, sick behind the tavern for far longer than a normal mug of ale might have caused. 

Once they were done nearly losing their insides to sickness, his friend, still clutching the wall, looked over at him.

"Theran?"

He looked up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Yes?"

"You're a _fucking idiot_."


	4. Chapter 4

It had been three days, and he hadn't had the nerve or bravery to step foot into the tavern again. 

He wasn't so much afraid of drinking a bit of ale again as he was seeing the woman again. She hadn't left his thoughts, despite everything. His friends were still cursing him and his bloodline for how they had ended up caught in his mess, and were calling him an idiot for even debating approaching the woman again. 

But here he was, acting an entire fool and watching out for her to see if perhaps he could strike up a far better conversation than the first time, and offer apologies to her in the form of a mountain of some sort. 

Theran figured she probably wanted his head on a pike, but he also figured that she would have had his head on a pike already if that was the case. So he was leaning against the tavern without going inside, seeing if perhaps she'd walk by, and he'd managed to untangle his tongue long enough to string a decent sentence together. One that wasn't 'another ale, woman'. 

God, he was truly a fool. 

The low clash of steel against shield caught his attention. He hesitated, not wanting to miss her, but also not wanting to miss the chance to get his frustration out through some helpful dueling. 

Theran found the fighter in question in full armor, trading blows with a training dummy, their form lazy, their hand limp around the handaxe. There was a chance they were only casually training, perhaps to get frustration out like he had been thinking of doing. But- 

"Perhaps you'd like to spar with me instead?" The fighter turned and looked at him, handaxe in hand, and even with the heavy steel helmet on, he could feel the person watching him. The armor was neutral, so the most he knew was the fight was shorter than him, and slender. 

"Come on. Let me help you." Theran watched the fighter straighten up, felt their appraising glance, and waited, hoping the other man might deem him worthy to train with.

He watched the other move over to one of the tables, set their weapon down, and tug their helmet off. 

_Divines, save me._

The Divines either truly delighted in his misfortune, or figured it was finally fates smashing down upon his good fortune, because there in front of him was the woman from the tavern.

"You're going to help me, are you?"

Her words sounded like a threat and an invitation to accept that threat, and despite how many times he practiced the words he wanted to say, they were lost as soon as he saw her again.

Hello. I'm sorry. We truly got off on the wrong foot and that's my fault. May I ask your name?

"I imagine I could help, your axe hand is weak."

She glanced down at her hands, then slowly brought her gaze back up to meet his, that faint little smile that truly hid the terrors of the world still tugging at her mouth.

After a moment, she swept her hair back, lifted her chin, picked up her axe, and left her helmet off to the side. He watched, stared, as she moved back into the empty space that was the training ground of the Companions, and truly, he realized he had set himself up for disaster a second time.

"Alright, warrior, if you're so convinced you can help me. Show me."

He swallowed, and carefully pulled his sword out, gesturing it towards her, offering her a grin that did nothing to hide his nerves. She offered a soft laugh in response, long hair catching the sunlight like it belonged there in the wispy strands and not trapped suspended from the sky like curtains over a window.

Theran was on his back before he could count to two, the clash of her axe against his sword truly the only reason he still had his head at that point, with her pinning him down. As slender as she looked, she felt like a beast with how much force slammed into him without warning.

_Beautiful._

Her eyes stared down at him, and it took him far longer than he cared to admit to even speak up, much less, tap her arm to signal his surrender. She laughed and climbed off of him, and after a moment of debate, offered her hand to help him to his feet.

"I stand corrected."

"You only stand because of my mercy."

Theran laughed. Perhaps he hadn't royalled mucked up his chances just yet.

"I...never asked your name."

She stared at him again, and he felt himself take a cautious, careful step back.

"But I'd like to ask it now, and I'd like to apologize for last night. I shouldn't have assumed you were-"

"Some tavern wench."

"No, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have assumed at all, and I'm sorry. I wasn't even drunk, I had no excuse."

He found himself being absolutely torn apart with her eyes, and truly hoped this wouldn't end with her pinning him down again.

She set her axe aside and offered her hand to him. It took him a moment for his mind to catch up amidst the racing thud of his heart, but he took it, shook it firmly.

"You cannot have my name, but you may have my forgiveness. For now."

Theran swallowed and couldn't hide the smile that found its way to his lips, crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"For now?"

She took her hand back, walked backwards, catching up her axe and helmet and heading inside.

"You seem the type to have to beg for it once more in the very near future."

"Perhaps I can beg your forgiveness once again a hunt?"

She paused, nearly through the doorway of the Companions' guild, and he felt his heart nearly threaten to stop and race at the same time. 

As his heart pattered and tried to figure out if it was going to continue functioning or cease to contribute to his continued well-being, he saw her nod.

"Tomorrow night. Dusk. Don't be late, _drunkard_."

He raised a hand in farewell as she slipped through the doorway, the door slamming shut between them.

"Wouldn't miss it."


	5. Chapter 5

He was fidgeting like a boy going for a walk with a girl for the first time, with the way he kept adjusting and readjusting, sheathing and unsheathing his sword, his dagger, his axe.

_Calm down. This is nothing._

_This is everything._

He glanced up when he heard the door open, expecting her, worried it would be her.

A tall broad man with dark brown hair and an intent sort of stare watched him from the doorway. A greataxe was strapped to his back as he walked down the steps, looked Theran up and down.

"Who are you then?"

Theran shrugged a shoulder, barely managed to not take a step back because the man in front of him truly screamed of danger and death.

"No one important. You?"

"Farkas. Why are you here?"

Theran had words for it, had an entire explanation for why he was standing where he was, like a boy courting for the first time.

_I met a woman and asked her to go on a hunt with me._

_I'm meeting her here._

"That's an excellent question."

"He's here for me."

Theran glanced up, found her staring back at him. He almost didn't recognize her, with the more gruff fur armor she wore, the fresh paint splashed across her bare skin and face like blood.

He glanced up at Farkas, who stared at him, then glanced at her, before letting out a low chuckle.

"Astra. This is the man from the tavern?"

_Her name's Astra._

"The one most noted."

Farkas laughed, and Theran actually had the decency to feel embarrassed. 

_They knew of him?_

A hand rested on his shoulder and he glanced up, Astra staring back up at him.

"We're waiting for two more and then we'll be going."

He only nodded, lost in the way the sunset lit up her hair. He felt absolutely untethered when her hand fell from his shoulder, and that was about when her words settling in.

"Two more?"

His gaze flicked over to Farkas, who grinned at him, his expression more teeth than humor.

"Thought you'd be alone with her? No, that'd be indecent. Who knows if you two can be trusted?"

Theran felt blood rise up to his cheeks, felt his heart patter a bit in his chest.

He watched the resulting scuffle, the way Astra elbowed Farkas in the ribs, the resulting laugh that escaped the man. He couldn't help himself from smiling as well.

_Well, if I was truly in trouble, Farkas would probably have killed me by now._

_That's not quite accurate. She, Astra, could have killed me long before now._

"Are we ready to go or do you two still need to bash each other's head in?"

A woman with dark red hair walked up, following by a man who looked...almost exactly like Farkas, but not quite.

Oh and I thought just one of him was a cause for concern.

Farkas grinned at the newcomers, ruffled Astra's hair before having his hands smacked away.

"Ready when you are. Aela, Vilkas."

Theran found himself pointed at by Farkas, tensed when Aela and Vilkas both looked at him.

"The man from the tavern."

Theran barely held back a soft sigh as both Aela's and Vilkas' eyebrows rose, noticed the way they looked at Astra, who shrugged and went back to cleaning her axe as they all stood there.

Aela was the first to speak up once again, even if her tone was significantly more clipped, more distant, her gaze piercing right through him like a lance.

"Very well. Does the man from the tavern have a name?"

"It's-"

"Drunkard."

He looked over at Astra, who grinned back at him.

"It's Theran."

Silence followed what he said, and for a moment, he worried he had said the wrong name, or...something. When Aela finally pushed past him, he relaxed. Only for Farkas to laugh, jostle him a bit with his shoulder as he walked past.

"Drunkard, it is."

He rolled his eyes, and followed after them, the fading sunlight still catching in Astra's hair.

_Divines, damn it all._

Having three 'chaperones' wasn't quite how he had imagined this hunt going, but it was after all, a hunt. 

It wasn't a leisurely walk under the stars. There was a target, and they were all going after it.

That didn't make it any less grating to have three additional companions he hadn't mentally prepared to meet seem to watch him more than the surroundings as they crept away from the town walls, and deep into the forest.

_At least I still get to see her._

It was a small consolation, but it was something. She had said yes to him. She hadn't said anything about what the hunt would look like. 

The forest threatened to swallow them whole, but before it could make good on that promise, the ruins emerged as if from nothing, seeming to both stand tall and crumble right in front of them.

"What are we hunting?"

"Whatever we find in this tomb, drunkard."

He barely bit back the snarky comment, the urge to lash out in defiance lost when Astra tossed him a quick smile before vanishing into the tomb.

Then he found three Companions, all armed to the teeth, staring back at him.

"You first, drunkard."

He shrugged, pulled his sword from its sheath. It took him a moment to collect his calm, but with a steadying breath, he finally walked into the darkness.

A torch sparked to life right next to him, dragging a yelp out of reluctant lungs. He glanced over, Astra grinning right back at him.

"Jumpy, are we?"

"Only around fire."

"Try not to burn yourself then."

"I'll do my best."

He found the torch offered to him, hesitated once more before taking it from her, doing his best to keep his fingers from slipping from the cloth-wrapped handle.

"You two behaving?"

"Only a little."

Farkas scoffed, pulled out his own torch and lit it against the torch in Theran's hand.

"Lead the way, drunkard."

He glanced over at Astra, who stepped back and held her arm out for him to walk out of the crumbled entry hall, and further into the ruins. Theran stepped down the stairs, careful to not light the hanging vines on fire, or manage to whip around and light his companions on fire as they moved.

"It's always so quiet in ruins."

"For now. Let's hope it stays that way."

A soft laugh escaped Farkas, coupled by shushing and the familiar smack of hand against armor.

"I wouldn't have imagined you two would have liked such a quiet outing. How interesting."

Even in the firelight, which barely illuminated much, he swore Astra blushed from that comment. Chalking it up to him being a wishful thinking idiot, and blaming the own blush firmly settled on his cheeks, he kept walking.

Theran kept expecting Draugr to either rise up from their godforsaken graves, or for one of the Companions to cause enough noise that it woke them. But they continued on, and the Draugr, ever the most fickle creatures of Skyrim, slept on.

He glanced over and barely caught Astra watching him before she looked away. He couldn't help the slightest smile tugging at his lips, an idea lighting up in his mind that seemed like a good idea to break the silence.

"So...do you grace this ruin with your presence often?"

Astra laughed, Divines above she _laughed _, and Theran truly had to stop where he was and just admire her-__

__Until the low growl of waking undead caught their attention from the doorway they were about to pass through._ _

__"Perfect. Your tact manages to sink _below_ your intelligence, drunkard."_ _

__That came from Aela, who stormed through the doorway, followed by a silent Vilkas, and a Farkas who couldn't seem to stop chuckling._ _

__Theran readied his sword, his hand curled tight around it. He glanced over at Astra, who was grinning at him as she drew her handaxe once more._ _

__"That's one way to make things interesting." Her voice was light, holding every trace of snark and every long-held passion for life in her words, her tone._ _

__He couldn't help but grin at her as he stepped back, bowed slightly to let her walk past him._ _

__"After you? The undead await your steel."_ _

__She stared back at him, that grin turning into a slow smirk. She stepped towards him, and not the door, brought the curve of her axe up to tilt his chin up, just a little._ _

__" _Drunkards, first_."_ _

__That drew a laugh out of him, and without much more delay, he threw himself through the doorway and into the fight._ _

__It didn't last long. Even with ten draugr, there were five warriors. Astra wiped grime from her face, and Theran nearly moved over to her to help her get the streak of dark grey that was now across her forehead._ _

__Farkas gave him a look that nearly sent him to Sovngarde then and there, so he stayed back, finding his fallen torch he had dropped amidst the fighting._ _

__Aela cleaned off the grime from Astra's face, ruffled her hair affectionately, and then gestured onwards, deeper into the ruins._ _

__Either by some miracle, or by the three Companions throwing them a pity bone, Astra and Theran were able to walk together while the other three were up ahead, speaking in hushed tones._ _

__Theran didn't get to speak up before Astra did, and found her giving him an incredulous look to rival that of any school teacher he had ever encountered._ _

__" _Do you come here often_? That's the line you went with."_ _

__He shrugged, felt his smile turn a bit sheepish as he absently glanced down at his feet, at the walls around them._ _

__"Seemed like quite the line at the time."_ _

__"It's quite _something_ , alright."_ _

__"Really? You thought so?"_ _

__That earned him a smack against his shoulder, but Astra was still grinning, and he still had his limbs, so that had to be some sort of good sign._ _

__Many, many Draugr fights later, they found themselves in the true center of the ruins, a vast cavern with a stream far more beautiful than it should have been, seeming to run silver and sapphire even in the dark, hidden trenches of the mountain._ _

__It was enough to give Theran pause, standing in the archway of the room to survey it, not out of caution or fear, but out of reverence of some sort._ _

__He glanced around, afraid he'd be shoved forward, but even the Companions, even Astra, had paused to take in the sight._ _

__The cave stretched outwards to either side and then curved back in. The way it curved draw focus to the far wall, a tall wall that seemed more intact than it should have been. In front of the wall, an ornate obsidian casket rested, closed and secure. It was surrounded by candles, tall silver containers for gems, but the true prize was-_ _

__"I'm deeming it mine. I'm getting there first!"_ _

__Astra darted from the doorway and out into the cave, towards the steps that led to the large intricate chest that rested near the wall._ _

__The wall which truly seemed to be glowing._ _

__He watched as the others stepped forward, relaxed, carefree, not watching out for danger now._ _

__Theran almost stopped them, called out to them, asked them if the glowing wall was any concern._ _

___But if it was, they would have said something, right?_ _ _

__He followed after them, admiring the way Astra was pocketing gems and gold, inspecting the different weapons and armor pieces in the chest._ _

__The wall drew his focus again, and who was he to deny the curiosity threatening to drop him to the ground?_ _

__It glowed, twisted, blue and silver. It was almost serpentine, with the way it curved and writhed. He could have sworn it was staring at him with piercing white eyes, but they vanished just as quickly as he saw them._ _

___You're seeing things, Theran. You're too young to see things._ _ _

__Maybe it was the transfixing way the glow caught his attention, maybe it was the low hum of power that he swore echoed out of the wall._ _

__He watched his hand press down against the glowing symbols on the wall, felt power spark and burn and ache and pierce through him like he'd been thrown to the ground-_ _

__His vision went black, his hearing faded, but not before he heard his name called, felt hands catching at his body before he impacted the ground._ _


End file.
